


To Feel What I Think

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-20 14:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13719297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: “Guess I’ll go upstairs,” Bittle says, voice low.He pulls on Jack’s shirt enough that Jack knows he should follow.As they weave through the crowds toward the stairs Jack feels a buzzing inside him that starts fading out other things in his awareness. The crowd goes, the smell of alcohol and drugs dissipates, the floor beneath his feet loses solidity. There’s just the thrumming inside him, the sweat on his skin, his lungs and heartbeat, and Bittle’s body like a beacon he follows upstairs and down the corridor.





	To Feel What I Think

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notenoughgatorade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughgatorade/gifts).



> This is for my darling Silvia. A wonderful friend and one of the nicest people I have the pleasure of knowing. She requested a smut fic set at Halloween 2014.

_Now_

Jack watches Bittle dance. His skin glows green-blue-red-yellow in a hypnotic pattern with the changing lights, body moving flawlessly to the beat of the music. It’s nothing Jack recognises. Barely any lyrics and a heavy bass that thuds up to his skull from the soles of his feet.

The plastic cup in his hands is crumpled from his grip and long empty, Jack trying unsuccessfully to soothe a throat gone dry.

He blinks rapidly as Bittle drops suddenly to the floor, swallowing as Bittle raises his ass up first then draws his body slowly upright again. There’s such control to the move that Jack is impressed, by that and by…he can’t pick it. All he knows is he’s been at this party much longer than intended. Almost two hours now. He can’t recall any one conversation he’s had with clarity, but if you asked him to, he could recount in specific detail the way the wig Bittle’s wearing stuck to the back of his neck, wispy tendrils of red clinging in a way that drew Jack’s attention, made him lick his lips without realising. He’d be able to tell you how perfectly the dress moved around Bittle’s thighs as he danced, standing too close to one of the soccer players. How the small heeled boots he’s wearing made his calf muscles so _defined_ , delicate ankles and toned muscle clad in mesh tights that climbed up and disappeared beneath the layers of Bittle’s dress. Jack would and could draw a picture if you asked, or better yet, detail how he’d frame Bittle through his camera lens.

Jack excuses himself from the people he’s standing with. They barely acknowledge his words so he can’t imagine he’d been contributing much to the conversation. Was it something about student housing? He honestly can’t recall. He stands at the sink and fills his cup with water, drinking it greedily and wondering if it’s always gotten this hot at kegsters. He pulls at his black t-shirt, sweat sticking it uncomfortably to his back. He drinks another cup full of water and then splashes some on his face and neck for good measure. It feels amazing, the droplets of water running down his fevered skin, slipping beneath the collar of his t-shirt. He’s tempted to upend an entire cup of water on his head and fills his cup halfway before he talks himself out of it, unsure what’s gotten into him that’s making him so impulsive tonight.

He’s alone in the kitchen for the moment, but he knows it’s not a permanent sanctuary. It’s a strange thought for Jack to have, because as he thinks it, he realises…it’s not true. There’s been other Haus parties where’s he’s spent most of his time in here, or up in his room, and it _has_ felt like a utopia in the mad rush of partying, lights, sounds, noise. Tonight—though the cool water feels good on his skin and down his parched throat—he’s already itching to get back to the party.

It’s not for the dancing, the music, the long-gone mini pies, the beer pong. There’s just _something_ he feels he’s missing. Missing out on. Maybe.

He wants to _want_ to go up to his room but instead, Jack fills his cup up again preparing for the sticky heat that’s going to cling to him when he goes back in. Glancing at the microwave as he walks past, he’s surprised by the make-up on his face. The headband’s still there too when he checks. He’d forgotten he was wearing it. Something has him distracted tonight.

_Earlier_

The bass thrums through the floor of Jack’s room, already heavy for so early in the party. He can hear people arriving, Shitty greeting them enthusiastically from the porch by his beloved tub-juice. He knows Shitty’s going to be disappointed by his lack of outfit, but he’s not planning on staying long. Halloween kegsters get a bit too much for him.

He shuts his laptop down, finished working on his essay for the night, and stores it safely just in case. Key in his pocket to lock the door behind him, Jack runs a hand through his hair as he double-checks everything’s safe and secure.

Footsteps along the corridor catch his attention. No-one should be up here; the guys are down at the party already and there’s no reason for anyone else to be here. Not yet.

He opens his door, frowning to see a woman walking toward the stairs.

“Hey,” Jack calls, then almost swallows his tongue as the woman turns around and it turns out to be Bittle.

“Oh, Jack!” Bittle smiles and starts walking back up the corridor toward Jack. He’s carrying an empty pie tin and a rolling pin, both covered in red for some reason. “Didn’t think anyone was still up here.”

Jack blinks, eyes roving over Bittle while something in his brain turns over, over, over like a stuck record.

“Where’s your costume?” Bittle asks, gesturing at Jack.

“Oh, er, I-” Jack brings his eyes back up to Bittle’s face. He’s done something with his eyes that make them seem larger. It’s a good look on him, though Jack misses the blond hair that’s hidden beneath an auburn wig.

“I don’t have a costume,” Jack tells Bittle.

“Nothing at all?” Bittle sounds disappointed. Jack doesn’t like hearing that in his voice so he tries to think of something.

“I could wear an old jersey? Go as a hockey-”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence. _No_. It’s Halloween! You gotta go as something different.”

“What about you then, eh?” Jack says. “Pie dish and a rolling pin. Seems regular Bittle to me.”

Bittle rolls his eyes and Jack grins at him.

“ _Bloody_ pie dish and rolling pin. And in case you missed it, I’m wearing a dress, heels and a wig.”

“I noticed,” Jack says. He clears his throat after, uncomfortable to find that he means it more than he cares for Bittle to know.

Bittle bites his lips and then looks Jack over. “All right,” he says, seeming to gather himself up. “Turn round. Back to your room. I’m sorting out your costume.”

Jack doesn’t bother trying to argue, he simply slips back in through the door he’d left open and waits for Bittle to tell him what to do next.

“I really don’t have anything planned,” Jack reiterates as Bittle deposits his props on the bookshelf, and starts looking around Jack’s room for who knows what.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Bittle replies absentmindedly. Jack wants to take offense but he has no grounds for it.

“You’ve got a black t-shirt, right?” Bittle asks, placing his hands on his hips and looking at Jack.

Jack nods.

“And those are your darkest jeans?”

Jack looks down to check. He nods.

“Great.” Bittle grins and points a demanding finger at Jack. “Change into the black top. I’m just going to dash into my room real quick for something.”

Jack watches Bittle leave, mesmerised by the way the heels accentuate his calf muscles. He’s still staring at the door when Bittle pops his head back in it to say, “A _tight_ top, Jack. Got it?”

Jack simply nods again, struck dumb by Bittle’s enthusiasm for his task and his confidence in the heels and the way his lips stand out with whatever gloss Jack just noticed he’d put on them.

_Now_

“Sup, Jack,” Lardo greets easily, hopping up onto the back of the couch he’s been standing near. There are people crammed onto the couch, but no-one he knows or has bothered talking to. The couch is right on the edge of where the dancing is. Half the team is out there now, mostly drunk but having fun. Jack likes seeing that. Most aren’t trying to dance well—he hopes—and his gaze keeps landing on Bittle, miles ahead in confidence and skill.

“Hey.” Jack returns Lardo’s greeting, and leans back against the couch to bring their faces a little closer so that it’s easier to talk over the noise.

“Enjoying yourself?” Lardo asks Jack.

He shrugs. It’s a straightforward question with what should be a straightforward answer. But ‘no’ would be a lie, and ‘yes’ seems off the mark too.

“Mostly,” he settles on eventually.

“Mostly?” Lardo checks, raising an eyebrow at Jack.

“More than usual. I think,” Jack adds, unsure. It’s certainly a different feeling to other kegsters, he’s just not sure why yet. It’s like a word on the tip of his tongue, or remembering he needs to remember something, but not knowing what it is. It’s been his night’s constant companion.

“Well that’s something,” Lardo says, encouragingly. “I’ve personally bested my record for fastest pong win, so I’m enjoying it.”

Jack nods appreciatively, then lets his gaze drift back to the dancefloor. He knows Lardo won’t mind the silence he lets settle between them. Chances are, she’s sought him out for a moment of it anyway.

Holster and Ransom are dancing with Bittle between them. Jack looks at the height different between them and it stirs something funny in his stomach. Bittle by himself doesn’t look small, has never looked small to Jack. He’s a hockey player, after all, with the muscles to prove it. Biceps, thighs, ass, calves. The cut of his dress makes his shoulders look wider than Jack’s ever noticed them to be. Between Holster and Ransom though, Bittle looks…he looks like Jack could pick him up easily and throw him over his shoulder. Like if Jack wanted, he could bundle Bittle up in his arms and-

Bittle looks over and catches Jack’s gaze at that moment and his train of thought skips its rails and skids off the track. It’s one second—less even—of something dark and intense before Bittle shuts his eyes and drops his head back against Ransom’s chest.

Jack swallows roughly and discovers when he goes for a drink that his cup is empty again. He tries to create some space between his shirt and his skin again. His temperature has spiked—it’s not the first time tonight—and not in a pleasant way. In a way that itches and makes him want to take his clothes off, or go into the kitchen again and _actually_ pour a cup of water over himself. A whole jug of it.

Lardo shoves an elbow into Jack’s side and his empty cup cracks and buckles in his hand as surprise makes him grip it roughly. He’d forgotten Lardo was beside him.

“Nice costume, by the way,” Lardo says.

“Uh, oh, thanks,” Jack fumbles to accept the compliment, brain coming back. “Bittle help—Well, he did most of it.”

Lardo whistles lowly. Jack can’t hear it; just sees the shape her lips make and recalls her doing it on other occasions.

“You look fucking ‘swawesome. You gotta thank him for turning you into this _fine feline_.”

Jack laughs at Lardo’s wagging eyebrows. “Don’t worry. I definitely did.”

“But did you thank him _enough_? I bet you were just going to go as some hockey player, right?”

Jack looks away, embarrassed that Lardo got it in one. “Actually,” he says, trying to flatten his cup back out, “I didn’t have anything planned.”

Lardo laughs loudly beside him and almost falls off the couch. Jack steadies her easily and she ends up leaning against him.

“Man, Shitty would’ve gone off at you for that,” Lardo says, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I know. Though in my defence, I wasn’t planning on being down here this long.”

“Got a doco lined up on Netflix?”

“Something like that,” Jack agrees.

Lardo finishes up her beer and puts her empty cup inside Jack’s mangled one. Jack raises his eyebrows at her but she presses a finger clumsily to his mouth. Jack smiles beneath it.

“So why have you stayed down here?” Lardo asks, rolling her head back on Jack’s shoulder so she can make eye contact with him.

Jack shrugs and Lardo makes a noise and pushes herself off him. He feels silly admitting he doesn’t know, and he’s not eager to try and describe his feelings.

Jack looks around. Holster and Ransom are chatting with some girls over in one of the corners. Chowder, Dex and Nursey are with Farmer and some of the volleyball team, playing a game that involves a pack of cards. Shitty doesn’t seem to be inside, but Jack’s fairly confident if he went outside he’d find him by the tub juice.

Bittle is…Jack can’t find him. He frowns, and stands up, not sure yet whether to be worried about his absence but feeling it anyway.

“Lards, have you seen Bittle?”

“What?” She asks loudly. He must have spoken too softly.

He leans down closer to her. “Bittle. Have you seen him?”

“What about me?”

Jack turns and Bittle is there. His skin is flushed, cheeks ruddy and eyes wide and excited. His gaze when he looks at Jack now is nothing like the heavy intensity of when they’d connected earlier as he was dancing. Still, Jack swallows.

“Jack was looking for you,” Lardo tells Bittle loudly, moving herself off the couch to stand by them.

“Well, here I am,” Bittle announces cheerfully, throwing his arms out to the side.

Jack watches a bead of sweat roll to the low collar of Bittle’s dress.

“Has anyone got any water?” Bittle asks, fanning himself before lifting the back of his wig up. “This outfit aint the most breathable.” His mouth lifts in a self-deprecating smirk.

Jack wishes he did have water to offer Bittle, but has to shake his head.

“No problem, I’ll just pop into the kitchen.”

Jack watches Bittle work through the crowds of people, smiling at almost everyone he passes.

“Bittle’s really stepped up the outfit game this year,” Lardo remarks beside him.

Jack clears his throat before replying. “Yeah.”

“I thought his legs looked good in his short-shorts, but-”

“Yeah,” Jack says again emphatically while Lardo is still talking.

“-the heels are really—Wait. Hold up.”

Lardo steps in front of Jack and cocks her head at him. Jack drops his gaze to her—it’s been fixed in the direction of the kitchen even though he can’t see Bittle anymore. Lardo opens her mouth then shuts it again. She leans in closer to Jack and does it again before backing up again.

“Never mind,” she mutters.

Jack means to ask what’s wrong but Bittle comes back into the room. He’s recovered his pie tin and rolling pin—and somehow there are new mini pies in the pie tin—and is making his way without stopping to where Jack and Lardo are standing.

“Jack!” Bittle shouts when he’s still half a room away.

Jack can sense Lardo eyeing him but he keeps his eyes on Bittle. _Keeps_ makes it sounds like he has a choice. He’s not sure it feels like that.

“I haven’t gotten a photo with you yet,” Bittle says when close.

“I’m on it,” Lardo jumps in immediately. “Your phone?”

Bittle frowns. “Don’t have it on me. Lards, this dress has _no pockets_.”

Lardo barks out a laugh. “Welcome to the club. That’s what bras are for.”

“Oh. I’ll have to wear one next time then.”

The plastic cups crack in Jack’s hand.

Bittle turns back to him and Jack matches the smile on Bittle’s face automatically, though it goes against the feelings churning in him.

“I’ve gotten one with everyone but you, Jack,” Bittle says, leaning up into him, though the heels bring than much closer than normal anyway.

“Alright,” Jack says, heart rabbiting away as Bittle goes to lean an arm around him. He gets knocked in the back of the head with the rolling pin, but doesn’t mind.

“Alright boys. Best smiles.” Jack looks to Lardo and smiles. “3, 2, 1.”

There’s no flash, but Lardo lowers her phone and Jack eases the smile off his face.

“Can you?” Bittle shoves the rolling pin and pie tin into Jack’s hands. It’s a scramble to stop everything from dropping as he’s still clutching his and Lardo’s empty cups, but he manages to keep the tin mostly upright and squeezes the rolling pin hard into his side before it rolls out of his arms completely.

Bittle leans over Lardo’s phone to inspect the picture. The wig flops over his shoulder and Jack’s gut tugs as he thinks about walking over there and moving the hair off his face. He’s thankful his arms are already occupied.

“Looks great, thanks,” Bittle tells Lardo, then bounds back to stand in front of Jack. “That was one of your better smiles,” Bittle tells him.

“Gee, thanks,” Jack says sarcastically, hoping to make Bittle laugh and smiling when he does, head thrown back and everything.

The smile wavers slightly when Bittle reaches up a finger to brush Jack’s cheek. His skin is already so warm, but a new heat burns where Bittle’s fingers go.

“Your whiskers have held up pretty well.”

“I haven’t been doing much,” Jack says stupidly.

“I’ve noticed. No dancing, no drinking.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack swallows. Bittle’s finger is still dragging along his cheek, tracing below each whisker he drew on earlier that night. “I wasn’t planning on being down here this long.” It seems he’s said that several times already.

“I’m glad you did,” Bittle says, finally dropping his fingers from Jack’s face. “At least tell me you’ve had some of my mini-pies while you’ve been down here.”

Jack shakes his head. “They were all gone by the time I came down.”

“Luckily I had these stashed in the fridge then.”

Jack looks down at the ones he’s still holding.

“I thought they were prop ones,” he says.

“Nope.” Bittle picks one up. “Like I was going to pass up a legit excuse to bake. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“I do though,” Jack refutes, “that’s why I thought they’d all gone already. They’re _that_ good.”

Bittle’s cheeks are already flushed from the dancing, and maybe it’s the flashing lights, but Jack would like to think they get a little redder when he says that.

“Such a flatterer. But no,” Bittle says, dancing his fingers over the mini-pies before picking one up and holding it in front of Jack’s mouth. “Promise these are 100% real and edible. No human parts in them, even.”

Jack lets the final comment go, recognising it as a reference though unable to fully understand what to because he’s too busy staring at the pie in front of him. Jack blinks. Bittle’s fingers have colour on the nails. Dark and glossy. It elongates his fingers, making them almost devastatingly pretty.

Jack flicks his eyes up to Bittle, who’s waiting patiently for Jack to try some of the pie.

“Come on,” he says. It isn’t soft—the music is too loud around them—but it feels it anyway. Something in Bittle’s eyes is like the times they’re alone in the kitchen together. Comforting and challenging at once.

Jack open his mouth and leans in to bite into the pie. His eyes stay on Bittle, whose smile widens as he takes the bite, and the taste of cherry swirls around his mouth. Jack hasn’t felt so aware of being watched in a long time. He tries to swallow quickly, but his mouth is so dry it’s like dry cereal.

“It’s good,” he croaks when he’s swallowed.

“I know,” Bittle says wickedly, taking his own bite from the same pie. Jack could reprimand Bittle for eating the rest of his pie, but he finds himself too entranced watching the red cherry juice drip down his chin to say anything.

The tug in his gut happens again, the intention behind it too murky for Jack to parse out.

Bittle finishes the entire pie, then flashes Jack a grin. “Thanks for holding these.” He takes back the rolling pin and pie tin, leaving Jack’s arms empty and wanting.

Jack watches Bittle retreat back into the kitchen.

A throat clears several times beside him before he realises it’s directed at him. Lardo’s got a single eyebrow raised. He cocks his head at her and she nods to the kitchen.

“Guess we know why you’ve been down here so long tonight.”

_Earlier_

Jack’s between one shirt and the other when Bittle comes back. His skin breaks out in goosebumps as he realises Bittle’s standing in the doorway with his eyes on him. It’s a surprising and therefore disconcerting reaction. It has Jack turning his back to Bittle so he can tug the black shirt over his head. It must have shrunk when he washed it last because it feels snug around the neck and he’s hot immediately.

He slides his fingers under the collar, trying to create a little give so he can breathe as he turns to Bittle.

“Right, so,” Bittle says, clearing his throat and kicking Jack’s door shut behind him. The click sounds loud in Jack’s ears though the bass is still beating continuously below them, a mumbled soundtrack interspersed with shouts and yells from dozens of partiers.

“I think it’s best if you sit for this,” Bittle tells Jack.

Jack sits on the bed because it’s closest, only thinking something of it when Bittle gives him a funny look and glances as the desk chair he was standing near.

Jack flushes, looking down to his feet which is momentarily preferable to watching Bittle’s face quirk into expression that overwhelms Jack right now.

An armful of items fall onto the bed beside Jack.

“Is this an eyeliner?” he asks, picking up a small pencil-style object that’s tried to roll beneath his thigh.

“No,” Bittle says, taking it gently from Jack’s fingers. “It’s an eyebrow pencil.”

Jack blinks and looks up. This is the closest he’s been to Bittle all night. It’s strange to see his face so familiar yet so different. His freckles have disappeared beneath foundation or blush or concealer or whichever it is. The thick line around his eyes makes their brown seem darker and more intense. Maybe that’s coming from Bittle’s gaze as his eyes trace patterns on Jack’s face. Jack feels the need to swallow.

Bittle pulls the lid off the eyebrow pencil and brings it close to Jack’s left cheek.

“Stay still,” he whispers, breath fanning across Jack’s face.

“What’re you doing?” Jack asks, curious, matching his quiet tone to Bittle’s voice.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Tell me?”

“No. Now stay still, else the lines are gonna blur,” Bittle says.

“Would you tell me if I say ‘please’?” Jack tries, tilting his head up further just as Bittle goes to start drawing.

Bittle retracts his hand quickly and props it on his hip. “ _Jack_ ,” he says with exasperation but thankfully a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry.” Jack holds his hands up placatingly by his head. “I’ll be still.”

“Promise?” Bittle asks.

Jack nods solemnly. “Promise.”

Bittle narrows his eyes at Jack. “Alright. Here I go.”

Jack keeps his eyes open and on Bittle as he works the eyebrow pencil over his face in slow, steady lines. It’s a strange feeling, totally foreign to Jack, but almost soothing. Downstairs is still noisy, but it’s faded into the background behind Bittle and Jack’s even breathing and the quiet hums and murmurs Bittle makes to himself as he works.

“Look left,” Bittle says gently to Jack.

Jack turns his head. He can’t see Bittle well anymore but he trusts that he won’t get stabbed in the eyes with a pencil. Bittle’s fingers come up to rest beneath his chin, holding Jack’s head at the correct angle. Jack stops breathing for a second or two.

“You good?” Bittle asks, stopping his work to move Jack’s head back front on with the fingers still beneath his chin.

“Fine,” Jack says. It comes out an exhale, barely there at all.

“I’m almost done,” Bittle tells him, bringing the pencil to Jack’s face one last time to draw on his nose, round and round enough times Jack almost needs to sneeze.

Bittle drops his hands and takes a step away from Jack. He looks over his work then smiles gently. “Perfect. You’re—It’s perfect.”

Jack raises a hand to touch it but Bittle grabs his wrist.

“Don’t go smudging all my hard work, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“Sorry, Bittle.”

Bittle drops Jack’s hands and picks something else off his bed.

“The final touch,” Bittle says, moving too quick for Jack to see and placing something on his head. “Well, off you go then. Admire yourself.”

Jack gets off the bed and steps around Bittle. His hands twitch, wanting to touch his face. He stands in front of the full-length mirror in his room and stares.

“I’m a cat?” He asks, turning his head back to Bittle, who’s gathering up the make-up from Jack’s bed.

Bittle grins wickedly at Jack, then corrects, “You’re a _sexy_ cat.”

“Sexy?” Jack asks, eyeing himself again, clad in black with sparkling ears atop his hair.

“It’s Halloween, Zimmermann. You’re sexy or you’re nothing.”

Jack looks Bittle over in his outfit. “Clearly.”

There’s a quiet moment through the Haus as the music downstairs switches between songs, and Jack realises what an outrageous comment he’s just made.

Bittle drops something from his arms and Jack goes to get it for him. It brings Jack’s face far too close to Bittle’s near-bare legs. He exhales roughly, thankful as the music starts up to cover the noise.

“Here.” He straightens up and hands Bittle back the item. He doesn’t comment on what he just said, though Bittle’s lips are still parted slightly in surprise and Jack can sense how still he’s trying to hold himself.

Jack goes over and opens the bedroom door. “Shall we?” he asks without turning to look at Bittle.

“Right, yeah,” Bittle says quietly behind. “I’ll just, uh, put this stuff back.”

Jack waits for Bittle to move past him, standing well aside so there’s no chance of contact. He locks up again and starts heading down to the party where he can hopefully find Shitty or Ransom or someone to distract him for a while.

“Oh, er. Bittle?” Jack stops at the landing.

“Yeah, Jack?” Bittle turns to face him, expression oddly blank.

“Thanks. For the-” he gestures as his face.

“Sure. Of course,” Bittle nods, and a quick smile flashes across his face. “You’re welcome.”

“Right. So. See you down there.”

Jack waits for Bittle to get himself inside his room, then heads downstairs, mind set on grabbing the first team mate he sees.

_Now_

His body responds like it has all night. His skin flushes and throat becomes parched when Bittle moves his hips in a slow circle, fabric of the dress spinning out around his thighs. Jack’s skin prickles when Bittle runs his hand beneath his wig to lift it off his sweat-slick neck. Jack’s heart flips and breath catches when he thinks Bittle sees him staring, and Jack breaks their gaze quickly.

Before, he thought the party was affecting him more than normal. Now, he knows it’s more specific. It’s Bittle. Bittle is affecting him more than normal—has been all night. All those moments when Jack’s pulse started racing or he dropped his train of thought, he can recall why that was and it’s the same reason every time. Bittle.

Now that he knows why he’s looking, he worries that he shouldn’t. That it’s too dirty. That Bittle won’t want him to.

They lock eyes again, fleeting, and this time Bittle looks away first. Maybe he couldn’t even tell it was Jack his eyes landed on. The lights are bouncing frantically like strobe lighting. Maybe Bittle didn’t realise. Jack swallows the last of his water then drops the cup by his feet, shoving his hands deep into his jean pockets so he can’t do something drastic like push through swaths of people to get to Bittle and lay his palms on Bittle’s waist.

Jack shuts his eyes and thumps his head back against the wall. It’s marginally easier to ignore his thoughts without the live visual of Bittle, yet there’s still an imprint of him behind Jack’s eyelids.

Jack stays with his eyes shut as the song fades out and a new one starts to cheers from the crowd. Lyrics are shouted and Jack tries to focus on them instead of his thoughts, the whispers in his head that tell him,

 _you want it and it wouldn’t be so hard for you to just go and kiss Bittle, or at least stand next to him and dance. You saw him doing the same with the other guys earlier. One step, then another, you’d almost be there. He can shout the lyrics in your ear to help you out and you can press a hand to his back to steady him while he does it. You could tilt your head, he’d be right there. One kiss. Another. You’ve got a room upstairs and so does he. No-one would notice. You could both slip right out and_ —

Someone bumps into Jack from the side and he comes out of his fantasy with a nasty tug, his stomach clenching empty and unsatisfied. He forces himself not to look back to the dance floor and heads to the kitchen, but it’s not abandoned like it was before, and he returns to the main room slipping further into a haze of want.

He looks.

Bittle’s there.

On the edge of the crowd now. No-one from the team is with him and he doesn’t appear to be dancing with anyone.

_Now’s your moment._

Jack swallows and takes a step. Bittle sways with his eyes shut, wig lifted off his neck again with one hand while the other rests against his collarbone.

Jack takes another step.

Bittle’s eyes open and lock straight onto him.

He’s a rabbit caught in headlights. There’s isn’t a fight or flight for Jack right now, there’s just a _freeze_. Freeze as Bittle slows down his dancing and Jack’s palms heat uncomfortably. Freeze as Bittle drops his hands and walks—stalks—toward Jack with a heavy gaze not unlike earlier, when one look had derailed Jack’s thought process.

(He remembers now what that thought from earlier would have been. Bundle Bittle up in his arms _and kiss him_. That’s what he was going to think then. He’s thinking it now instead.)

Bittle’s only a few steps away and Jack’s still stuck like tar to the spot. He’s not hearing the bass but can feel is shaking up inside him like nerves. His breathing is shallow and he wishes he could have gotten into that kitchen for a glass of water because when he swallows it’s uncomfortable.

Bittle stops in front of him. “Hey.”

Jack only knows he’s spoken because he saw Bittle’s mouth move. His heartbeat pumping the blood through his body is the only thing he’s hearing. He has to lean in close to catch the next bit.

“You got any water?” Bittle asks, leaning up to speak directly into Jack’s ear.

Jack shuts his eyes in a long blink. It’s like his fantasy from earlier. His hand is half-way up to reach for Bittle’s back already.

Jack shakes his head instead, moving his lips dangerously close to Bittle’s ear, as close as he’ll let himself so he’ll be able to pull away later, so he can say, “No. Sorry.”

Jack goes to lean away but Bittle slings an arm around Jack’s back to dig his fingers into his neck and keep him bent over.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get some from the kitchen.”

“It’s occupied,” he tells Bittle, recalling the couples from earlier.

“Damn.” Bittle pulls away from Jack, one hand still sticky on his neck. The other, Bittle uses to fan himself. His skin glistens with sweat—the same glow like he’s just finished a game. Jack appreciates it, the sight and smell of it. He’s marvelled walking off the ice after many games that Bittle looks like he does now—sweaty and dishevelled, still painfully attractive. Sometimes, seeing Bittle like that churns envy in his gut, but it’s not envy he feels now. It’s thicker, heavier. Viscous and sticky, surrounding Jack and clogging up his senses, making him want to _taste_.

Bittle’s hand—Jack was too focused on Bittle lips a second ago to notice—wanders around the collar of his shirt, drags slowly from the back of his neck to the side, the front, digs in below his Adam’s apple and pulls. This time when Bittle speaks into his ear his lips brush deliberately against the crown of Jack’s ear. Jack shudders involuntarily as his nerves shoot pleasure downwards from the point of contact.

“Guess I’ll go upstairs,” Bittle says, voice low.

He pulls on Jack’s shirt enough that Jack knows he should follow.

As they weave through the crowds toward the stairs Jack feels a buzzing inside him that starts fading out other things in his awareness. The crowd goes, the smell of alcohol and drugs dissipates, the floor beneath his feet loses solidity. There’s just the thrumming inside him, the sweat on his skin, his lungs and heartbeat, and Bittle’s body like a beacon he follows upstairs and down the corridor.

Bittle leans back against Jack’s door and doesn’t move when Jack gets to it. Jack fumbles his key with Bittle’s eyes so deliberately on him. The gloss that was on his lips earlier has rubbed off completely, probably from Bittle licking them, or biting at them like he is now. Jack takes a deep breath before sliding his key into the lock and opening the door. He’s so close to Bittle he can feel when he laughs.

Jack goes inside first, keeping his back to Bittle. He hears it like an anvil when Bittle shuts the door. He understands on one level what’s happening and on another level is surprised at them both.

He walks through to the bathroom and fills a glass with water. He realises he forgot to turn any lights on when it spills over his fingers. He’s working on muscle memory. He turns the bathroom light on as he exits. The yellow light spills out in a triangle towards his room.

Bittle is still standing by Jack’s closed door—heels, dress, wig and all—eyes fixed intensely on Jack as he follows the spread of light from the open bathroom door to Bittle. He holds the glass out silently and Bittle takes a moment before his eyes drop down to it and he reaches for the water, fingers dragging slowly over Jack’s as he takes the glass.

He doesn’t drink.

“Is it—” Jack’s voice breaks. He tries again. “Is something wrong?” It’s a whisper this time, but at least it was clear.

One of Bittle’s hands clutches the glass, the other runs one outstretched finger around it’s rim. Jack watches it and swallows. Heat creeps up his spine.

“You know I… I wasn’t really after water,” Bittle tells him.

“I know,” Jack replies, because somewhere in his skin he knows it too.

“You’re been watching me. All night,” Bittle says, finger still moving round and round the glass. He tilts his head at Jack and then takes a half step in. They’re still not that close, relatively speaking, further apart than when they had their photo taken, yet when Bittle takes that step, the hairs on Jack’s arms stand up.

Bittle holds the glass out to Jack. “I think you may need this more than me.”

Jack takes it because it’s true. He drinks the whole thing with Bittle’s eyes on him, though he himself breaks the gaze to stare at the strange shapes the shadows are making on his wall. He’s not sure what to do when the glass is empty. He waits for the tug in his gut to pull him on a course of action. Waits for Bittle to say something else. None of that happens. Bittle continues to stare at him, head held at an angle and lips caught between his teeth.

He’s been in a similar situation only a handful of times. It’s never been this momentous. He’s never put so much thought into the _how_ of it. Normally, things just happen.

He wants things to happen, yes. He knows that about tonight now, about Bittle. He wants there to be care though. He wants-

“I want to kiss you,” Jack says. It’s not elegant, but it’s the truth and it comes out rattling with a need that Jack’s been in denial about for most of the evening, certainly since seeing Bittle dance, and maybe even since Bittle pointed a finger at him and told him what to wear.

Bittle smiles at him and takes another half-step in. “I’ve only been waiting all night.”

Bittle’s the one to move their bodies in close, until even in the dim light Jack can see freckles beneath his smudged make-up. He holds still for a moment, perhaps thinking what Jack is—something is about to change between them. Then Bittle leans up and Jack leans down and-

They’re kissing.

Jack relaxes into it with a _click,_ feeling tension moving out of his shoulders and fingers and thighs until he feels centred in a way he hasn’t been all night. He pulls back to take the feeling in. Bittle has his eyes closed still, lips parted slightly, and god does Jack want to kiss him in that moment.

He can. He does.

Bittle hums quietly, lips buzzing against Jack’s own. His tongue licks at the seam of Jack’s lips and Jack smiles and lets him play for a moment before parting his lips and drawing Bittle’s tongue in with his own. It’s still slow and gentle and warming, far more pleasant than the hot flushes of earlier in the evening.

Jack’s fingers twitch as he thinks about touching Bittle, and it’s then that he realises he’s still holding onto the empty glass. He steps away back from Bittle, blinking automatically to readjust to the new lighting, though it’s dim and unnecessary for him to do so. It’s really just a chance to breathe. He licks his lips slowly. Bittle’s eyes are open now and he watches as Jack does it.

Silence stretches between them, not taut—soft.  

Jack thinks about reaching out to touch Bittle lips, or rub a thumb across the smudged black under his eyes. But first, he steps around Bittle to put the cup on his bookshelf. He passes the bedroom door on the way back, reaching out to turn the lock.

Bittle watches him as he does it. Jack knows because he’s watching Bittle too—in case he’s changed his mind. His eyes darkens as Jack locks them in together. The silence folds in on itself, sucking something from the air that makes breathing harder.

Without the glass impending him, Jack’s free to touch Bittle.

“Come here,” he says, still standing by the door. He extends a hand to Bittle.

Bittle eyes his hand. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jack mutters, keeping his voice low, merely floating over the silence of his room.

“Will you tell me if I say ‘please’?”

Jack realises Bittle’s parroting their conversation from earlier. He laughs softly, then relents. “I want to touch you.”

“Well, then,” Bittle shrugs, hands lifting minutely from his sides—the ghost of a shrug, or a beckon.

Bittle doesn’t step any closer.

“Before—Well.” Bittle clears his throat. “It’s not because of the dress?” he asks quietly, gaze shifting from Jack.

Jack understands where the worry is coming from. “It’s not because of the dress.”

“Alright,” Bittle says after a pause.

“I’ll take it off you if you’re worried,” Jack says, trying too hard perhaps, but honest.

Bittle’s gaze snaps to Jack. Jack trembles to see a cocky smile appear on his beautiful face. In that look, something inside Jack recognises something inside of Bittle. He physically shivers. Tectonic plates drift apart and from some place within him, something that’s been boiling all night—a geyser of pure need—spills into his body.

His hand is still outstretched, and he uses it to follow his desire and grab the skirt of Bittle’s dress, tugging him close to Jack and spinning them both so Bittle’s back is pressed to his locked bedroom door. Bittle gasps at the sudden motion and his hands grab onto Jack’s waist. Jack doesn’t wait for Bittle to regain composure before he leans in and kisses him. He’s got one hand braced by Bittle’s head on the door, and the other rests at the small of Bittle’s back, encouraging him in close, curving his body to Jack’s. Bittle moans and Jack smiles against his lips, pleased to hear it. Bittle’s hands come up to grab around Jack’s neck, thumbs digging in behind his ears.

Jack kisses and kisses and kisses Bittle, getting to know— _needing_ to know—every bump and curve and soft plane of his mouth. His lips are full and warm and move readily with Jack’s, content to follow for the moment but Jack senses from the way Bittle grazes his teeth on his lip sometimes that Bittle’s just biding his time until he’s the one leading. For now, Jack moves his lips in a frenzy, kissing down his jaw until Bittle tilts his head back and Jack can kiss down the side of his neck, using his own teeth to drag satisfied noises from Bittle. Whimpers that have Bittle’s fingers digging harder into his neck until Jack goes back to his lips again—missing the feel of them against his already—and Bittle’s fingers move to grip his hair. It reminds him he needs to-

He draws away from Bittle, stops kissing him. He’s breathing hard; they both are. He reaches for the wig to pull it away and Bittle’s hands fly up to capture his wrists.

“Let me,” Bittle says, and starts pulling out pins from around his hairline. Several of them. Jack grows impatient and goes back to kissing Bittle’s collarbones, framed so nicely by the cut of the dress. Bittle shivers beneath him, he can feel it through the hands he’s wrapped round his waist, can also feel Bittle breathing deep and steady through the lips he’s got on Bittle’s chest.

“Jack,” Bittle says, to get his attention. “Done.”

“Do you care much about the wig?” Jack asks, reaching for it.

“Not really.”

“Thank god,” Jack says, and yanks it off, throwing it far enough away he won’t have to devote brain space to remembering not to trip over it later.

“ _Jack_ ,” Bittle says in a reprimand, but it’s too breathy for Jack to take seriously.

He doesn’t bother apologising before kissing Bittle again. Bittle lifts a leg up and slips it around his hip. Jack hand goes to steady it automatically, cups below his knee and slides up beneath the dress. He’d forgot that benefit. His fingers meet the ridge of Bittle’s underwear beneath his stockings and the temptation to rip them apart rises in him. Instead, he drops to his knees in front of Bittle and reaches his other hand up beneath the skirt, feeling with greedy fingers until he finds the edge of Bittle’s stockings.

“Might want to do the shoes first,” Bittle gasps, hands still in Jack’s hair. He drags the cat ears off Jack’s head and discards them across the room.

“Dammit,” Jack says, sitting back on his calves to unzip Bittle’s boots and pull them off. He’s not graceful with it, but thankfully Bittle’s more inclined to help than laugh. Soon Jack’s back to travelling his hands up Bittle’s legs, wrapping them around the back of his calves and dragging them up to the hem of the stockings again, kissing Bittle’s knees and thighs. It’s strange through the fish-net. The black fabric pulls down easily and joins the wig and cat ears somewhere far away.

Bittle pulls on his shoulders when he’s done, encouraging Jack up and kissing him eagerly while he’s still straightening up.

“Your turn to lose a layer,” he says against Jack’s lips.

There’s a playfulness in it, and Jack goes along with it, grinning easily as Bittle switches their positions so Jack’s against the door, and shoves his top up inch by inch over his chest before he flicks it off across the room. He flattens a hand in the centre of Jack’s chest and steps back to look. Jack feels itchy under Bittle’s gaze but lets him. This is only fair. He’s been looking at Bittle all night. Also, it makes Bittle’s pupils blow out which appeals to Jack.

“Now, that’s a sexy cat,” Bittle teases.

Jack knocks Bittle’s arm off his chest and moves in to kiss him again, less edge this time, more fun and intent. He slides his hands up beneath the dress again to hold on to Bittle’s hips and pull him in close. The material of the dress is scratchy against his bare skin and he shudders as Bittle starts moving against him, pressing his fingers into the meat of Jack’s back. Jack takes a step closer to his bed, leading Bittle gently. He could probably lift him up from here, just slip his arms around to Bittle’s ass and lift.

Bittle reaches for his belt and Jack draws back to give him better access, still kissing him. When he goes for the button on his jeans, Jack shivers and Bittle pulls his lips off.

“You good?” Bittle asks, hands stilling.

Jack nods. “Yes. Yes. It just,” he breathes deeply. “It’s good.”

Bittle smiles, too soft really for what’s happening between them. Jack appreciates it anyway.

Bittle leans up to press his lips quickly to Jack’s. “Good.”

The belt joins the rest of the discarded clothes. His jeans (after shoes and socks) too.

“Now, I think you said something about taking this dress off me?” Bittle taunts.

Jack bites the lobe of his ear. “Think you’re being funny, eh?” he breathes into it. Bittle shudders and sways toward him. He’ll be doing that again later.

Bittle turns his back to Jack. “There’s a zip.”

Jack drags it down quickly and then pushes it off Bittle’s shoulders. It drops down his body and pools at Bittle’s feet.

Jack kisses the back of Bittle’s neck, then up at the hairline. He mouths at Bittle’s ear (Bittle shudders again) then steps in to press his front against Bittle. Bittle jumps at the contact, but reaches a hand up to wrap around Jack’s neck and pull his face over his shoulder. The kiss is awkward—couldn’t be anything else at this angle—but Jack moves in small thrusts against Bittle, and moves his hands around Bittle’s torso to drag across his ribs and circle his nipples and he thinks all of that makes up for it.

Still, he eventually grows tired of the position. He places his own hand on the one Bittle’s got on his head and draws it away.

“Bed,” he says and pulls Bittle over to it.

He sits on the edge with legs open and Bittle falls easily between them, Jack’s hands on his ass. He has to look up to Bittle now, who’s a silhouette against the light from the bathroom. Jack leans in and kisses his torso, meanders his tongue and his teeth across the planes of his stomach, feeling the vibrations of Bittle’s shudders through his lips where they kiss his skin.

“Jack,” Bittle exhales as Jack flicks a tongue over a nipple.

Jack does the same with the other and Bittle sways into him. He can feel Bittle’s erection pressing into his chest and he moves against it, gentle, but enough for Bittle to tighten his grip on Jack and moan. Jack likes the sound so he does it again. Again and again until Bittle’s a trembling mess of sounds, far surpassing any noise from the party below.

After a particularly pitched exhale, Bittle drags Jack’s face up and kisses him. Bittle leads this one, sucking on Jack’s lips like they’re candy, and gripping his face so tightly Jack’s teeth dig into the sides of his mouth. Jack wraps his hands tight around Bittle’s middle, pulling him close while they kiss. The topple over, and Jack winds up leaning back on an elbow, with Bittle blinking dazedly above him.

Bittle takes advantage of the new position to crawl up onto the bed, knees either side of Jack’s torso.

“Move up,” Bittle says, hunger in his eyes.

Jack obliges, wiggling up until his head is on the pillow, and his legs are properly on the bed. Bittle moves with him, keeping his knees planted either side of his. When Jack’s settled, Bittle leans down and kisses him again, all fire. Jack’s hands gravitate to Bittle, straight to his ass. He kneads it, loving the feel of it beneath his hands and how Bittle moans into his mouth as he does it.

Bittle draws back and grins wildly at him. “You’re not playing around,” he says before reaching a hand down and pressing it into Jack’s erection.

Jack jerks up into it. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Neither are you.”

“Hm. But you like it,” Bittle says.

Jack can’t deny the way he’s still moving against Bittle’s hand.

Bittle returns to kissing him, moving his hand away, but he shifts his legs to drop his weight down and line their hips up so he can thrust their erections together. Jack’s hands are still on his ass, and he encourages Bittle as much as he can. His body is heating up, and he’s feeling stickiness on his skin as he begins to sweat, heat trapped between his and Bittle’s torso’s, and pleasure on the rise. It’s absurd to him now that he spent all that time with eyes on Bittle earlier and didn’t know that _this_ was what he wanted, that his gazes were doing something that was making _this_ a possibility.

Bittle starts kissing down Jack’s chest, hot wet kisses that leave marks on Jack’s skin. Jack’s stomach clenches as Bittle licks over Jack’s abs, and his body moves slowly and steadily down. Bittle’s nails drag down Jack’s sides gently and he feels goose bumps break out on his skin. Jack keeps his eyes on Bittle, the mess of blond hair, the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles working in his arms and back to keep himself poised above Jack. Gorgeous. He’s-

“Gorgeous.”

Jack’s mouth moves without him really thinking about it and he bites his tongue, half-embarrassed even though it’s true. Bittle brings his gaze to Jack and he can’t help it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells Bittle again.

Bittle’s already flushed, but the pink goes near-crimson and he ducks his head into his shoulder for a moment.

“It’s true,” Jack adds.

“Oh honey.” Bittle brings himself back in a swift move until his face is in front of Jack’s. “I know,” he says, eyes wide, before kissing Jack, teeth digging into his bottom lip to pull too fast for Jack to respond much beyond trying to chase Bittle’s lips as he pulls away to go right back to kissing Jack’s chest, licking around his nipples and trailing a teasing hand around the edge of his briefs.

It feels good. It looks amazing. Jack wishes he’d turned his bedroom light on so he could see Bittle properly.

Bittle teases Jack’s briefs down, pulling slowly while kissing his hipbone until eventually Jack’s dick is exposed to the frigid air of his room and Bittle pulls back so he can draw Jack’s underwear off completely. Jack props himself back up on his elbow and watches Bittle as sits on his calves and stares at him.

Bittle reaches out a hand to wrap around Jack’s length. “Gorgeous,” he says, with a quirk of his lips, before deliberately running a thumb over the leaking tip. Jack pulls air in through his teeth and his stomach clenches. Bittle does it again, eyes locked on Jack’s.

“Condoms?” he asks.

Jack nods. “Bathroom.”

“You gonna make me walk all the way to the bathroom?” Bittle tightens his hand around Jack.

“Ah. Sorry. I didn’t—Should’ve got them earlier.”

“S’alright.” Bittle leans up and in, presses his lips to Jack’s ear and says, “You’re just gonna have to wait a little longer before I blow you.”

Jack groans. Can’t help it. He feels his dick twitch and is sure Bittle did too, hand still wrapped around it.

Jack shivers, cold as Bittle leaves the bed. “Top drawer on the left,” he has the presence of mind to inform Bittle, who stopped in the doorway to ask. He’s thrown into shadow for a moment, a silhouette in Jack’s vision, before he steps into the light and Jack can see him in full light properly.

Bittle has the condoms in hand by the time Jack pushes off the bed and strides over into the bathroom.

“What’re you—”

Bittle doesn’t finish before Jack’s kissing him and pressing him against the counter, hands gripping the sides of his face.

“Wanted to see you properly. In the light,” Jack tells him between kisses. He feels Bittle’s erection near his hipbone, his own pressing against the hard planes of Bittle’s stomach.

“You’re not doing much looking,” Bittle manages to get away from Jack’s insistent lips to say.

“I wanted to kiss you too.”

Bittle laughs into Jack’s mouth. “We’ve got all night.”

Jack would reply but then he’d have to tear his lips from Bittle’s, and he wouldn’t be able to kiss his jaw, or run his tongue over the vein in his neck, or tug on his earlobe and kiss his cheekbone, or get his tongue inside Bittle’s mouth (the taste of cherry pie still lingering).

It would distract him from getting the underwear off Bittle. From moving his hands over Bittle’s chest. Dragging his thumbs across his nipples and flicking the nubs until they’re hard beneath the pads of his fingers. Distract him from grabbing Bittle’s right leg and encouraging it up around his waist so that if he leans over a fraction and moves his legs there then, yes, their erections line up. He can move them against each other and lay a hand on Bittle’s ass to grip. From getting his fingers in Bittle’s hair so he can angle his head best to kiss him. Until it feels just right. Until Bittle’s lips get swollen and sensitive and Jack can drag his teeth across Bittle’ lower lip. Drag harder so he exhales at a low pitch that digs into Jack’s gut and makes him thrust harder against Bittle.

All of that takes enough concentration that Jack hardly remembers to breathe, _doesn’t_ even until he goes lightheaded and sways and Bittle clutches at his shoulders to try and steady him.

“Sorry,” Jack says.

Bittle’s eyes are so dark. He shakes his head at Jack and digs his fingers into his shoulder. “No. No apologising. That was…really hot. Shit. Jack, I—”

“Good.” Jack grabs Bittle’s other leg and plants his hands beneath Bittle thighs to lift him onto the bathroom counter.

Bittle yelps. “Cold.”

“You’ll warm up,” Jack says, grabbing a condom out of the box Bittle’s still holding. “Trust me,” he adds, then slides the bathroom mat over and drops down onto his knees.

“Jack. Fuck. This can’t be sanitary. Or good for you knees, or—”

Jack rolls the condom onto Bittle’s dick as he protests. “This height works better than you sitting on my bed,” he cuts in.

Bittle stops speaking. “Did you just—You chirped me! While we’re having sex.”

Jack smirks at Bittle then licks a line up his length and sucks the head into his mouth.

“I forgive you,” Bittle gasps, moving one of his legs up over Jack’s shoulder.

Jack grins around Bittle’s dick and wraps his hand around the base of it where his mouth doesn’t reach. He might have taken his time, really dragged it out for Bittle with an agonising slowness that would have had them both jittery and trembling, but it’s hard to hold back tonight. Bittle’s hand clenched in his hair is encouragement, as is the broken way he repeats Jack’s name as Jack continues to work him, sucking on the head and sliding down to meet his hand, tongue working hard against Bittle’s dick as he pulls up to start over again.

The bath mat does nothing much to protect Jack’s knees from the cold tiling, so he’s almost glad when Bittle tugs at his hair in a clear indication for him to stop.

Jack pulls off him and leans back on his calves. Bittle swears above him and Jack feels like repeating the sentiment as he takes in Bittle flushed all over, stomach muscles clenched, mouth open and gasping for air.

“Was getting close,” Bittle tells Jack.

“Why stop?” Jack asks.

Bittle lowers himself from the bathroom counter. Jack likes how shaky he is, gripping onto the ledge for support. It feels good that he made Bittle that way.

“Because,” Bittle says, stepping slowly backwards away from Jack, into his darkened bedroom. “I wanna come with you inside me.”

Jack watches Bittle walk away, swallowing roughly. He grabs the box of condoms and some lube before following him. Bittle is reclining on Jack’s bed, one hand up by his head, the other moving slowly over his own dick, condom discarded.

“Thought you didn’t want to come yet,” Jack says stupidly, gaze fixed on Bittle’s moving hand.

“You took ages.” Jack can hear the pout in his voice.                                                                                     

He climbs onto the bed, settling over Bittle. “I was getting lube.”

Bittle grins up at him. “You’re forgiven then,” he says, then kisses Jack.

“How do you want to do this?” Jack asks, kissing Bittle’s cheek, his nose, the tip of his ear.

“With you.”

“Sweet,” Jack says, biting at Bittle’s neck. “But not what I meant.”

“Oh.” Bittle settles his wide eyes on Jack, and reaches both hands up to yank Jack’s face close to his so he can brush his lips over Jack’s while he says. “Did you mean more like,” he drops the register of his voice, “‘Jack, I want you to open me up. Jack, I want four of your fingers inside me. I want to be begging before your dick touches me. I want to look into your eyes, Jack, as you push into me.’ Something like that?”

“You—Fuck, Bits—Yes,” Jack shudders, voice croaking out at Bittle’s forwardness. He kisses Bittle, harsh and hungry. “Something like that.”

Bittle grins and kisses Jack again. “You’re fun when you’re riled up.”

“I can tell you’re enjoying it.”

“That’s the goal, isn’t it?” Bittle asks. “For both of us?”

Jack nods and slides a lube coated finger into Bittle. Bittle clenches around his finger and Jack waits until he relaxes before slowly moving the digit. He kisses Bittle throughout, sucking on his lips and tongue, feeling Bittle’s moans and sighs before he hears them.

Two fingers in, Bittle starts thrusting against his fingers and when Jack crooks them, Bittle gasps and throws his head to the side. Jack does it again—curling his fingers and pressing purposely at the same spot—and Bittle clenches around him and gasps, eyes wide. When Jack does it a third time, this time also kissing up Bittle’s neck to press an open-mouthed kiss by his ear and whisper his name, Bittle moans his loudest yet.

Three fingers in and Bittle is kissing Jack desperately, fingers digging into his back. Jack feels sweat at his hairline, and on his palms, can taste it on Bittle and he wants more.

“Jack. Please.”

Jack knows what Bittle is asking. He kisses Bittle once more before reaching for a condom and rolling it on to himself.

“Like this?” Jack has to check, kneeling between the spread of Bittle’s legs and gazing down at him.

Bittle nods at Jack.

“Okay.” Jack lines himself up and waits for one final affirmation from Bittle. It comes as a smile and a nod. He pushes in. They breathe out slowly together as he does it.

“You feel incredible,” Jack tells Bittle honestly, watching the expressions on Bittle’s face.

Bittle chuckles low, almost grunting, and Jack feels it in his own body.

“You feel pretty good yourself, Zimmermann,” Bittle says, wrapping his legs around Jack’s torso and digging his heels in.

Jack begins to move in shallow thrusts, eyes locked with Bittle’s until they flutter shut and he bites his lip. He kisses over Bittle’s cheek and his jaw, licking up the side of his neck, tasting sweat and make-up and Bittle. He tugs on Bittle’s earlobe with his teeth and is rewarded with Bittle whimpering and tightening around him. Bittle’s hand comes up to hold Jack in place, fingers deep in his hair. Jack kisses his ear again and Bittle whimpers.

Bittle turns his head to meet Jack’s lips and kisses him, eyes open and messy—sometimes pressing their lips together, sometimes pulling Jack’s between his own, sometimes licking around his lips. All the while, Jack thrusts into Bittle, building each time until the sound of slick skin dragging can be heard over the bass from downstairs. Until Jack’s lost to the feel of Bittle around him and beneath him, Bittle’s fingers pressing into his skull, the sight of Bittle debauched, and the sound of Bittle’s shaking breaths rushing out of his body.

“Jack.” Bittle tosses his head to the side, hand slipping from Jack’s hair and fisting on the pillow by his head. “I need—Can you—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Jack gets a hand beneath Bittle’s left leg, moving it up over his shoulder. He lifts himself onto his elbows so he can drive in harder, angle upwards. It takes him a few tries until Bittle jerks beneath him. Jack drives in again to the same spot and Bittle moans his name.

“Don’t stop,” Bittle adds, and starks jerking himself off to Jack’s thrusts.

He looks so incredible beneath Jack, so much like something out of a vivid dream that Jack has to focus on the feeling to prove to himself it’s real. The burn in his stomach muscles as he thrusts into Bittle, the tremor in his thighs and arms which hold him up, the heat and slick of Bittle around his cock, the sweat rolling down to his jaw. The build of momentum in his gut, ready to explode.

“Bittle. Bits. I’m close,” Jack gasps out, thrusts now erratic and desperate, no rhythm, _deepshallowshallowdeepshallow_ , arms shaking so much he’s worried he’s going to fall onto Bittle as soon as he comes.

“Me too. God, I’ve been wondering what you look like when you come since—” Bittle’s breath hitches and his words choke off as Jack rubs against his prostate again.

“Since?” Jack asks, trying to get it together enough to hit the same spot again but control slipping from his sweaty fingertips as sparks fly up his spine.

“Since I drew those goddamn whiskers on your stupid face,” Bittle speaks through clenched teeth. “Don’t stop, Jack. _Don’t stop_.”

“Won’t,” Jack says, grunting with every thrust as his muscles clench too tight for comfort and his skin burns and Bittle arches his back beneath him so his leaking dick smears come on Jack’s abs and Bittle whimpers at the same time and curls back down beneath him and gasps his name and starts coming and looks so fucking incredible as he comes apart, clenching hard around Jack as his hand still moves over his dick, eyes screwed shut through it.

Jack watches, rapt, envious almost. “Bittle. Fuck, Bits. Bittle.”

Bittle finishes with Jack’s name on his lips and it’s not enough except that Jack’s been holding off, too invested in watching Bittle come to do the same himself. But now. He lets go.

He shudders and his muscles clench and release as he lets the sparks up his spine ignite his senses. His orgasm rips through him like slamming into the boards. He feels the shockwaves all over his body as he moves into Bittle, erratic, dick pulsing his release. Bittle’s hands travel over him as he comes, up his torso, across his chest, down his shaking arms, around to his ass.

Jack manages to keep himself upright as the tremors work through him but as soon as he’s spent, he drops his head down to Bittle’s chest and shudders, letting out the breath he was holding. He stays there, breathing, surrounded by the smell of him and Bittle, slowly coming down from the high. He presses open-mouthed kisses to Bittle’s chest between deep breaths, and licks at his chest to taste the drying sweat. Bittle squirms beneath him, leg dropping off Jack’s shoulder.

“Ticklish,” he whispers.

Jack does it again and Bittle laughs.

“Jack,” he reprimands without heat, shoving Jack’s head off his chest.

Jack pulls out and props his head on his arm to look at Bittle.

“Sorry,” he grins.

Bittle rolls his eyes at him.

“I get the feeling you’re not.”

Jack leans in close. “Not really, no” he agrees, then kisses Bittle.

It’s slow. It’s syrupy. Bittle hums, content, with his lower lip held between Jack’s. Jack’s spare hand rests on Bittle’s hip while they kiss, thumb rubbing at his hipbone. A minute passes in this way before Bittle sighs and draws away from Jack.

Jack stares down at Bittle, aware he’s smiling, not sure if he can stop.

“I don’t—What do I say?” Bittle asks, eyes moving off Jack’s as he lifts a hand to trace on Jack’s chest and focus on that instead.

Jack wonders the same thing for only a moment before he says, “Say yes.”

Bittle narrows his eyes at Jack. “Say yes to what?”

“To my question.”

“Which is…?”

“Stay the night?”

Bittle’s hand stills and presses flat to Jack’s chest. Maybe he can feel how Jack’s heart rate has picked up again, awaiting Bittle’s answer.

“I’ll say yes on one condition,” Bittle says, tapping his fingers against Jack’s chest.

“Alright,” Jack agrees. “Which is?”

Bittle looks up at him, sly. “Tomorrow morning, I actually get to blow you like I wanted.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration from Ngozi's [drawing of Jack and Bitty ](https://twitter.com/omgcheckplease/status/528412852223483904) and also [ this tumblr post](http://foryouandbits.tumblr.com/post/157718320060/okay-several-points-about-this-picture-that-i)
> 
> Thank you two my two lovely beta readers! [Peeps-the-writer ](http://peeps-the-writer.tumblr.com) and [dontenz](http://dontenz.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you also to [M](http://happyzimm.tumblr.com/) for the amazing art. I do love collaborating with you! (see [All The Sights of Paris](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11110836) for more)
> 
> Title from [Undress Me Now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkeAJ6dKo98) by Morcheeba
> 
> Always happy to hear your thoughts, even if they're just, "AAAAAAAAAAAAH" :)
> 
> Find more of my writing on tumblr at [17piesinseptember](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/)


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